Coming Back In Senses
by M14Mouse
Summary: Sam didn't come back all at once. He came in pieces. Tag to Swan Song


Coming Back In Senses

By: M14Mouse

Summary: Sam didn't come back all at once. He came in pieces. Tag to Swan Song

Disclaimer: Don't Own Them.

_Taste_

In hell, the only things that Sam could taste were sulfur, darkness, and blood. The smell of sulfur in the air was so thick that he could almost taste the bitterness. Dean never told him that they weren't any lights in hell. Maybe, it is just the cage that doesn't have any lights. Then again, without a vessel, angels are beings of light. Lights weren't needed where he was and darkness prevailed. It pressed against his skin like a blanket. He could taste the thickness on his tongue. Most of the time, he tasted blood. The copper taste would roll off his tongue. Or maybe, it was his tongue? Some days…weeks…months…, he couldn't remember.

Or he didn't want to remember.

He didn't know when he stopped tasting the sulfur….the darkness and the blood. He did remember something wet touching his cheek. At first, he thought it was blood. Wasn't quite sure if he was his but it was a possible. Then he felt it on forehead. He thought it was kind of strange that the blood wasn't warm. Maybe, it was something new….

Then it touched his mouth. The taste nearly shocked him. It took his brain a moment to figure out what it was. Water. Rain. He almost forgot what it tasted like. He opened his mouth to allow another drop to fall in. It tasted like the best thing in the world.

_Smell_

In the pit, the smells are overpowering. Sometimes, they were blend together into an awful indescribable smell. The smell of ash and burned flesh were etched into his memory. He smelt other things in hell…or maybe he didn't. Not really important because his nose became immure to the smells like a garbage man picking up trash after so many years. That is why he nearly choked when he didn't smell the ash, the sulfur, and burned flesh. He could smell the grass underneath his body, the lightening in the air, and just plain…air.

He curled onto his side and cough. He coughed until he couldn't breathe. He coughed until his chest ached. He coughed until he opened his eyes.

_Sight_

In hell, his sight wasn't always there. He closed his eyes when they cut into his skin or claws dug into his flesh. Sometimes, they would rip out his eyes or burned them out. Sometimes, it would be for the best. He didn't want the hot poker sticking out of his stomach or the ropes tighten around his throat. He didn't want to see the hot coals roll up and down his legs. He couldn't see Lucifer and Michael's burning light. He couldn't see yellow, black and red eyes staring at him. Or was it all in his head. Maybe, Dean's stories got to him. One thing was for sure…there was always darkness. It was a type of darkness that his eyes couldn't adjust too. It was thick and black….and pressing…then stars. Once, he stopped coughing and he could breath properly, he rolled back onto his back and stared at the stars.

At first, he thought that he was imaging the stars and clouds. There aren't stars in the pit. Maybe, he is dreaming again. He dreamt of demons, angels, and ghosts. He dreamt of funny motel rooms, strange food, and stranger people. Yes, he dreamt of stars, of cars, and big brothers.

Especially of big brothers….

Yes, this was a wonderful dream. It will end soon…and it will be back to burning lights, darkness, and blood.

Always blood.

That was until he heard the crickets…

_Hearing_

Hell was all about voices. His voice. Their voices. His cries. Their cries. The sounds of metal on flesh. Metal on metal. Bones breaking. Souls breaking. Most of all, his screams and their screams. No matter how he tried to tune them out. Their voices and screams pieced through him. They would beg and taunt him. Sometimes, their voices were sweet, seductive, cruel, and bitter. Slowly, they rolled into one collective voice that sounded like Lucifer. They wanted him to beg. He could never figure that. Why did they want him to beg? Beg to God…to Lucifer? No, he made his peace.

He had no need to beg but he screamed. He screamed until he couldn't….

Then he tilted toward the sound and saw a cricket sitting on a rock just out of his reach. He moved his hand toward the cricket but it jumped away. His hand curled into the grass and dirt. He marvel at the blades of grass and grim of dirt digging into his hand.

_Touch_

Most of the time, he felt cold. It was a biting cold…a bone numbing cold. Lucifer wasn't lying when he said he ran cold. It was almost always cold expect when he was bleeding. He almost looked forward to the torture for a chance of feeling warm again. When he felt the cool night air above him, the warm ground below him, and the bugs running across his skin, he almost cried.

_Voice_

He could see the stars above. He could smell the remains of a storm. He could feel the breeze in the air. He could taste the rain on his lips. He could hear the crickets chirping.

He wondered briefly if he could cry.

They loved it when he cried. They drink his tears like wine. When he stopped crying, they would just try something new.

He wondered briefly if he could speak.

They loved it when he screamed. But they didn't like it when he said something wrong. So, they would rip out his throat.

He rolled tongue around mouth to gather any reminding moisture. He swallowed the split down his throat and his lips parted softly. He spoke a name close that he knew just as well as his own. It was a name that was never far from his thoughts.

"Dean…"

In that moment, he realized that he no longer in pieces…he was whole.

End.

A/N: I had no desire to write a Sam-coming-back-from-hell-fic. I leave that to more awesome writers. But this hit me hard while cuddling my dog in bed. So…the bunny won…and here it is. I hope you enjoy. Read and Review if you wish.


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